


Bliss

by lennongirl



Series: World Cup 2006 [1]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Football | Soccer, M/M, POV Second Person, World Cup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 03:11:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lennongirl/pseuds/lennongirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>World Cup 2006: It's the night after Germany beat Poland in minute 92. And what a beautiful night it is. And just when you think it's over you realise it is, in fact, just about to begin. Bliss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bliss

**Author's Note:**

> In this fic, I have Torsten call David Odonkor "you cheeky turn on". I somewhere read a quote of Torsten calling David "unseren Geilmacher", totally fell in love with it and just had to use it. This is the best I could come up with ;)
> 
> Written in July 2006.

The earth is cool below your body. You close your eyes and blend out the dark sky and accompanying stars, the chirping crickets, everything. You just lie there for a moment and enjoy the quiet moment. You try to listen inside your own body. You’re still a bit tense after tonight’s events, you know that you haven’t arrived at that point you had set as your personal target; you know you still have a little bit to go until you reach your peak. It takes you a bit longer than it once used to (but you’re not old, no, not yet). Still, you’re happy with what you accomplished mere hours ago and your body lets you know you gave your best. Now you’re waiting for relaxation to finally release you into the night. 

You stretch a bit, you can feel every single bone, every muscle in your body, and you know that if you wanted to, you could have complete control over even the smallest part. But all you want to do is relax.

Breathe, in and out. You open your mouth and breathe in deeper. You’re almost there.

Bliss.

“Micha?”

The word, although uttered softly and carefully, cuts like a knife through the silence surrounding you. Yet you don’t tense or jump, you stay completely still. Your body doesn’t react because you told it not to, there was no need to show any sign of surprise because you _knew_. You didn’t hear anybody approaching you, yet you knew he was coming, like the way some people know it’s going to rain any minute even though there’s no visible sign. You just knew, and it’s okay; he doesn’t disturb your peace, he couldn’t, not anymore.

“Mh-hm,” you murmur and refuse to open your eyes, you know he’s hovering above you and most likely giving you this one look, the one with the furrowed brows and the tiniest hint of a smirk.

He doesn’t say anything else and you manage to hold on for about half a minute before you give up and open one eye. 

You were right. Small smirk and all. 

“Hey,” you say, and smirk back. The moment of relaxation is gone. All that’s left now is you feeling dizzy, drunk almost, despite the fact you’re completely sober. But you didn’t manage to calm down completely and you’re still on a high, thanks to a good mix of adrenaline and euphoria.

He shakes his head. He’s amused and you know it’s not only because he’s probably in the same state of dizziness you are in, but also because you yourself amuse him, the way you’re lying in the grass in the middle of the night. The thought that you make him smile like that fills you with satisfaction and pride, it’s stupid and unnecessary to think about any of his reactions towards you in this way (you know, you really know by now, after all these years), but somehow, it’s still a relief. Maybe because of the little quarrel you had a few days ago, after the Japan match. 

You were so mad back then, mad at everybody. You were mad at Jürgen for not listening, you were mad at Jogi for listening and still not doing anything, you were mad at him because you knew he could do so much better and what the fuck was that? Most of all, you were mad at yourself. This was your World Cup approaching, this was your time, this time, and you had to make it happen. And so you did. And afterwards, everybody was a bit mad at you, which was okay, since somebody had to deal with it all. And he was mad, too, he told you so, because if there’s one thing that’s always been there between you, it’s honesty, even if it hurts sometimes. 

Honesty, always. Except for that one time.

Things calmed down eventually, and in the end your little stir up turned out to be working better than anything else. And that’s why you’re here now, happy and at peace with everything and everyone. You played, you did good, the both of you did. Again. 

Bliss.

“Come on,” he says and, again, sneaks his way into your mind. “Get up or you’ll catch a cold. And Jürgen will kill you.”

“Nah, he won’t,” you say as you slowly rise until you’re sitting up. “Although,” you add just as you’re about to get up, “he might try.” 

“He won’t. He knows I have your back.” 

“Yeah.” You look down to your feet – slippers, no socks, you don’t know why you’re wearing shoes at all, the night is still warm and the whole cold thing was just a silly joke and just look at yourself, hesitating and procrastinating, when and why did you start to do that?

You finally look at him. “We were good today.”

He nods. He understands what you’re saying. “We were.” 

Once you’re up, he starts walking back to the hotel and you have no problem catching up with him. You sling your arm around his shoulder and pull him closer. He chuckles but doesn’t fight you off, on the contrary, he leans back against you. You feel him next to you, at your side, you feel his warmth, you feel him everywhere. You can smell him. He’s close, like so many times before, you should be used to it. And yet you aren’t. Something has changed. You can’t name it, you can’t grasp it, you just know something is different between you now, and although it scares you a tiny bit, you welcome the change and crave to explore it deeper. You can’t fight the anticipation, although you’re not quite sure what it is you’re anticipating. 

You’ve always been close, right from the start. It’s like they say, some things are just meant to be. Some things just click and fall into place. Just like the two of you. Best friends, comrades, teammates. Always there for each other. Always honest.

Except for that one time.

You never talked about it afterwards. You simply erased it from the mutual memory of your friendship. But you never erased it from yours.

You take the last few steps until you arrive in the lobby. 

The light is almost blinding inside, and you need a few moments to get used to it. That’s when you see somebody sitting on the stairs. It’s David, head in his hands.

You look at Torsten and give him a questioning look that matches his own. You have no idea what this is all about. You’re a bit surprised to find David sitting on the stairs, you thought you and Torsten would be the only ones still awake. You should’ve known better.

You let go off Torsten and slowly step towards the stairs, taking a closer look at the human bundle sitting there. 

“Hey,” you softly say, “are you okay?”

David’s head jerks upwards all of a sudden and his eyes grow at the sight of you. “Micha… Torsten. I… I can’t sleep, I…”

He’s stuttering and you sigh inwardly, because now you know what’s wrong. And you curse yourself for being so careless and selfish, for not thinking about him earlier. It was his first time, his first real time, and what an emotional ride it was. You remember how you felt back then. It’s not that long ago, although it feels like forever in that very moment. 

You sit down next to him and pat his thigh.

“So,” you begin, “how does it feel to be the hero of the day?”

His eyes grow even wider.

“What… huh?”

“Oh, come on. First match, most important pass already. I’m a bit jealous, actually.”

David now looks as if he’s about to panic, and you wonder if he’s really that far gone. 

“I’m jealous, too,” Torsten joins you, “you’re a little bitch, Odonkor, for stealing our spotlight, you know. You have to earn joker status, with years and years of hard work, you can’t claim it in your first match already.” 

And then Torsten flicks David’s earlobe, again and again, and finally, David smiles, just a bit, until it changes into a wide grin, accompanied by some giggles. He tries to bend his body away from Torsten’s teasing hand while yelping “Micha, do something! Stop him!”

What you do is push David back to Torsten and laugh and when David starts to howl loud enough to wake everybody up, you and Torsten let go off him.

David uses his shirt to wipe away some laughing tears. “That was cruel,” he complains, “I never stood a chance.”

“That was the plan,” you say and get up, offering him your hand. He grabs it and pulls himself up, too.

“Uh, I’d better try and get some sleep now,” he says, and although he doesn’t look lost anymore, he still looks like a little boy and you just have to smile at him.

“You do that,” Torsten says, “and you’d better have some nice dreams, you cheeky turn on.” 

David grins again and almost flies up the stairs.

“Man,” Torsten sighs as soon as David is gone, “I sometimes wonder what they’d do without us.”

“Cry and mourn the great loss. Or celebrate their freedom.”

“The latter, most likely.”

“Probably.” 

You look at each other earnestly for a moment and then you both laugh. It just feels so good, all of it. This is your time, after all, you just knew.

Bliss.

You’re silent again on your way up and just like that, you find yourself slinging an arm around his shoulder again. It’s like a natural reflex, and by now you know the way his bones and muscles interact when he moves by heart. 

Almost all of them.

You reach the door of your room and you’re still dizzy. You don’t want to let go of this feeling yet. You don’t want to let go of him yet. You look at him and you try to remember the young lad you once met, the funny, somewhat dorky guy who made you laugh and enjoy life to its fullest by just being with you. You try to compare the image from so many years ago with the one of the man who’s now standing in front of you. He’s got older, sure, but so did you. He looks different, more mature, more defined… you don’t remember any of this.

You do remember what happened back then, this one night, the partly erased memory. You remember alcohol, lots of it, you remember heat and sweat and a hard body grinding against yours. You remember hands in places that friends usually don’t explore, you remember tongues meeting and limbs entwining and most of all, you remember bliss and pure pleasure. 

But this is different. There is no alcohol to blame, no sexual tension of those who are young and eager to experience. This is real life, this is you, and you are a grown up man with a girlfriend and three kids by your side, plus he’s married and your best friend and whatever once happened didn’t happen, at least not in this reality. 

“So,” you say and although it’s just a word, a syllable, you somehow feel like you just asked a question, only you’re not sure which one. All you know is that you want the answer to be yes.

He nods. You open the door and step inside, knowing he’s going to follow you inside. Just like you always know his moves these days. And why not. You could talk some more, recap the day’s events again. Or something. 

You turn towards him and see him smirking again and you can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking about. 

He licks his lips, they’re probably just dry and he’s not even aware he’s doing it at all. 

You stare. 

You close the space between you with two steps and trace his lips with your finger, following the damp path his tongue has just left.

“Micha.” It doesn’t sound like a warning, it doesn’t sound like a wish, either, it’s just your name, and it sets you off. You push him against the door and are all over him within seconds. You want to have him, eat him, swallow him, and you want it now. You want to know why it is that you suddenly have this strong new connection, you want to know if it’s there in whatever you do. You need to know. 

He somehow manages to escape your demanding mouth. “Fuck,” he mutters and pushes you away. 

“Fuck, Micha!” He’s growling now, a dark, angry rumble, and it somehow brings you right back to your world, the here and now, the hotel room.

“What, I,” you begin and then stop because really, you have no idea what to say.

He runs a hand through his hair, absent minded, and looks at you again, shaking his head. And then he inhales, as if he’s trying to get his act together. 

You fear you just ruined it all. And you don’t even know how, why this happened.

But then, just like that, he grabs you by the shoulders, turns you around and slams you against the door. And now it’s his mouth on yours, his tongue forcing your lips apart and you feel him, you taste him, you have him just as he has you.

Bliss.

You stumble over to the bed somehow, hands fumbling with zippers and buttons, legs getting caught in trouser legs. You fall onto the mattress, he’s on top of you, and you feel his arousal pressing against your now bare thigh, you push back against it. He moans into your mouth. You grab his hair and use it to pull him even closer, it’s another thing you couldn’t do back then. It makes him moan again and you’re afraid you might just come from the sound of it, you need to give yourself a small break. 

“Here, wait,” you murmur and gently push him off you. Once you’re free, you get rid of your shirt and shrug off your trousers (maybe that’s why you are wearing slippers, after all) and watch him do the same. 

You know his body, all of it, but it’s just now that you can touch and see and feel. And admire openly. Back then, this one fateful night, it was hasty and hidden and secret. Now, it’s different, and it’s a change you welcome. You curl your fingers in the hair on his chest and he huffs a bit, it’s a sound you wouldn’t mind hearing more often. But you’re not in the position to make any wishes, because he’s leaning over to kiss you again, and now it’s his hand exploring your body and you happily give him the chance to do so.

You grind against him, desperate almost, as you try to get as much friction as you can. He pushes back at first, but withdraws a moment later, and just when you’re about to protest the sudden space between your bodies, you feel his hand closing around your cock and now it’s your turn to moan.

He pumps you hard and fast, just like you need it. You bring your own hand to his erection and you try to match his rhythm. There are so many things you’d rather do to him, with him, have him do to you, but you weren’t exactly prepared for any of this, and besides, what you need most right now is him, here, getting you off in any way, being with you when you come, being the reason you come. 

Bliss.

He’s almost erratic now, both in movements and moaning, and you realise you’re not exactly silent, either. But you’re past the point of caring, you don’t care about anything anymore, and even if you’re being selfish again, this is neither the time nor place to worry. Everything else just feels trivial right now, in this moment, when you look down and see your hand stroking Torsten’s cock and looking up, you see his face, eyes and mouth halfway closed, panting and moaning, all for you. All because of you. Just like your own bliss is all because of him. 

“Let me,” you whisper as you open your hand and stop him from jerking you off. He doesn’t protest but watches as you now take the both of you into your fist and start stroking again.

“Together,” you murmur as you restart your earlier fast pace, and the feeling of his cock rubbing against your own combined with these fucking arousing sounds he’s making is almost too much to bear. 

He reaches for your arse and begins kneading it, his fingers digging into the sensitive flesh of your buttocks. 

You flicker the tip of your thumb across the heads of the two erections in your hand, and although it was meant to get him off, it undoes you first. You buck against him, his fingers dig even deeper into your skin and you just can’t hold back any longer. You literally shudder and climax. As your orgasm washes over you, you moan and pant and – smile. 

The next thing you realise is that his hands are no longer kneading your backside. You open your eyes and see him wiping some of your come off his belly. He brings up a sticky finger and you don’t even think, you just move your head and suck it in. He exhales loudly at the sight, and you move your tongue around his finger in your mouth. 

He guides your hand back to his cock – you somehow must’ve stopped stroking him – so you grab him again and this one little touch is all he needs to come too, next to you, looking so beautiful, letting you know that it’s alright.

You use your pants to clean the both of you up afterwards. And then, you just lie on the bed, the two of you, naked, on your stomachs, staring at each other. It’s a strange situation, very unlike that one fateful night, when there was a drunk sleep right after and a hasty exit before the hung over reality set in.

“This happened,” you eventually say. It’s not a question, not an argument, just a statement.

“Yes. It did happen.” He doesn’t add anything, not right away, but he reaches out and caresses your cheek and you think that this touch says more than words ever can. It tells you ‘this is real’, and you both know it is, you both know this will be a part of your memory forever. You nod to let him know you’ve understood, and he’s smiling at you. 

You close your eyes and finally allow yourself to relax. You know you might fall asleep any moment, you know he will be gone when you wake up.

But you also know he’ll be back.

Bliss. 

 

~END~


End file.
